


Meal

by Nickidemus



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 23:18:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10056362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nickidemus/pseuds/Nickidemus
Summary: Jonathan recounts what his time with Dracula was really like.





	

I've picked and chosen my narrative so carefully. I haven't shared all. I couldn't. I could never let Mina know, cannot let her see. I must declare only pure horror, shielding my eyes from it as if from a glaring sun. I want all to believe that I ran from that place because it was horrid and filled me with dread. That all I experienced were terrors. These pages I pen now must never be seen.

They must never know it was the incomprehensible power my own desires had over me that frightened me. I must hide always the marks he left on my body where his teeth sank, sipped, and enjoyed. The Sisters were on the outside in those moments, looking in, and I have to admit, if only to myself, that I rejoiced in that. For a moment, I was chosen. Prized. If anything in that was dreadful, it was my own euphoria.

Why am I writing this? What possesses me? I shiver at the thought of being found out, and yet I burn with the need to scream it aloud. To remember his cool hands, his mouth a fever, my own body deliciously weak from his feeding. Weak and yet strong enough. There was blood in me still to show my own, male hunger. To respond when I felt him like a dark weight over me. It could have been a dream, feeling him stroke my hair and murmur in a language I could not understand. Yet I knew the words were for me, his tone that of a warm master.

I ask myself still if it was the bloodletting I enjoyed. It is that portion of it that makes me wonder about myself. That he was a man I tell myself I could cope with. That he was a man who fed from me, I wonder what has gone wrong in my heart. Did I enjoy being his sustenance? I did. For love? I hope.

He was always gentle at first and then clutching. Desperate. The end of the meal always made him the most rough, so difficult to pull away. My own pleasure a surge as frightful and sudden as a lightning strike, splashing along him with a hot throb. Always I would apologize. I am such a man of manners I cannot help it.

Then the most painful of all. To hear him coo at me, telling me not to be sorry. Then to hear him, feel him, licking it all clean. My doting master.

I notice my hair is turning lighter everyday. With horror, they say. They cannot know the real source. That I am homesick for what should repel me. That my body aches to be made a meal of.


End file.
